Here is my excuse, anyway: my manuscript. I’ve been re-writing. Re-thinking. Re-plotting. The different possibilities of my emerging story have been driving me wild.
Even with all that, though, I couldn’t stay away from the web — that sticky virtual web of Facebook-twitter-blogs-gossip. Even in the midst of working out a thorny plot problem (especially in the midst of working out a thorny plot problem?) I just had to stop all and go take a peek.
What’s everyone doing? What will J.K. Rowling’s new novel be about? What’s this twitter story about a boy? How did this author make it? What’s my agent up to, lately?
Etc., etc., etc.
I think the Internet is a wonder, its own kind of magic. Oh the connections. The new friendships. The opportunities. The information. The motivation. The gossip. The powerful writing. The occasional laughs.
Oh, the incessant blah-blah-blah of it. Oh the hours down the drain. Oh.
Yeah. Every wonder has its price.
I guess I am trying to make some decisions, even as I write this. Should I post here more often? Maybe even daily? Something about the idea of such discipline appeals to me. (Or would you get sick of me if I do?) Or — or, or, or — should I do the total opposite and limit my check-ins with the virtual world to, like once, a week, say Sundays, and be really really strict about that? (I’ve tried that before and failed miserably, but hey, I could always try again!)
Oh, the choices. Always the choices. It’s just like revising, those twisty pathways keep beckoning me in a zillion directions. At least in real life I have been getting better with making big decisions, lately. And here I am, trying to make one more.
What do you guys think? How do you do it? How do you keep that balance between what is precious to you in your so-called real life, and what’s exciting, useful, necessary, lovely in this crazy new world we have created?
And who is to say which world is more real anymore?
When I was a little girl, I wore a pioneer scarf around my neck and believed in communism.
I also secretly believed in magic mirrors. Even as a shy little Soviet girl, I dreamed that across the magic glass someplace there was another land, one of skyscrapers reaching into the clouds, and giant bridges of steel that hung from the sky.
I reached that land as a teen in 1993, when I stepped out of the JFK airport in New York City. I found my real home, met a man of my dreams, fell in love with the English language, moved into the Jersey suburbs, and got myself a beautiful, complicated American life.
After college I became a newspaper journalist and had quite an adventure chasing stories, keeping tabs on local officials, or just poking my nose everywhere it’d fit.
Now I am raising my two very American kids, while writing poetry and novels for young adults, and pursuing an MFA in Writing for Children and Young Adults from the Vermont College of Fine Arts in Writing For Children And Young Adults — along with a career in publishing.